To Explore, to Display
by hoarfrosted
Summary: James and Jett have always had a relationship of convenience. When Logan involuntarily steps between the two of them, the relationship becomes decidedly…less convenient, to put it mildly. Warnings for sexual content, language and violence.
1. Part 1

**Title: **To Explore, to Display (Part 1)

**Characters/Pairings: **Jett/Logan/James (in every variation), Camille, Jennifer.

**Spoilers: **None.

**Rating: **NC-17

**Warnings:** Sexual content, polyamory, language, light violence.

**Word Count: **Like, 10k or something.

**Summary:** James and Jett have always had a relationship of convenience. When Logan involuntarily steps between the two of them, the relationship becomes decidedly…less convenient, to put it mildly.

**Author Note:** What exactly James and Jett _separately_ do for a living, you may piece it together immediately, you may not understand until the end. It's not too important. Also, I can't promise that my knowledge of history is accurate, because I hate history. Minor research was done (I probably should've watched a spy movie at some point, sploops). This story is labeled _Part_ for a reason; don't expect anything competent like regular updates.

This story was prompted by and is dedicated to **joyousbrokenthing**, because Jett is the only acceptable addition to her (our) precious Jagan.

**Disclaimer:** I don't claim jack-diddly, including the references to _Queen of SOP_ and other popular media. This story is loosely based off a movie I've never seen before, _This Means War_.

* * *

_For James Diamond and Jett Stetson, being together was nothing more than simple necessity – "a purely carnal attraction," as Jett, the more eloquent of the two, preferred to describe it. Two attractive, sexually active men who happened to operate in the same clandestine field of work and were both inclined toward the same gender? That was a no-brainer! The only problem with the arrangement was that, while James and Jett clicked physically…_

–

**From:**_ Jett Stetson_

**To:** _James Diamond_

-Get home. Now.

**April 15, 9:57 PM**

That message had been sent forty-eight minutes ago. No response.

In the forty-eight minute span of time Jett had spent waiting for James to waltz through the door, he'd learned one thing: his nails were in desperate need of trimming. His fingers drummed against the marble countertop of the kitchen island impatiently, nails clicking against the hard surface in a restless tune that echoed crisply around the silent and scarcely lit condominium.

A few times during his wait, it'd crossed Jett's mind that he could've been doing something more worthwhile with his time, but at the same time, he wanted James to feel the full weight of an irate scowl when he came bumbling in through the front door so he felt nothing but guilt.

Spiteful, perhaps, but necessary.

Truthfully, Jett wasn't annoyed with James so much as he was annoyed with his entire day, a day filled with disappointments and failure, two things he was _not_ accustomed to dealing with. His only mission for the day was to lift a simple royal necklace from an exhibit in Velten, Germany, but nothing had gone right. Of course, he wasn't the one to blame; his "job" required a random shuffle of operatives before each mission both to avoid suspicion and to minimize the likelihood of being traced, so his team's chemistry was left completely to chance.

While usually that wasn't a problem, today he'd had the pleasure of working with the organization's D-squad, complete with a newly inducted equipment specialist who didn't know a laser tripwire from a laser pointer – Jett had a fresh wound on his shoulder as testament to that – a navigator who, while easy on the eyes, had led him down two incorrect corridors, and a scout who'd mixed up the hours of the guard shift change.

Unsurprisingly, Jett was the only member of the team who'd done everything without flaw, but then again, he was an expert. That didn't mean he'd actually succeeded in stealing the necklace, but there was only so much that one man could do on his own.

And it was a _really_ nice necklace, too!

But Jett didn't want to think about work, he wanted to be _distracted_ from thoughts about work, which was where his boyfriend played an important role. What kind of relationship could they have if the sex wasn't immediate and satisfying?

It was around that point – the fifty-four minute mark, if one had to guess – that Jett heard the telling _clicks _of the doorknob turning, so he was quick to check his face in the reflection of his phone, making sure his glare sent exactly the message he wanted it to. Seconds later, James' head popped through the kitchen opening, squinting through the darkness and swinging keys around finger idly. "Jett? Is that you? Why're you sitting in the dark like a stalker?"

Jett ignored the question and crossed his arms over his chest, sure he'd make a statement even in the darkness, "I sent you a very urgent message _hours_ ago and you have the nerve to show up talking _and _wearing clothes?"

"It wasn't _that_long!" James frowned, after a second of thought, took out his mobile to check. "Yeah, it wasn't that long."

"It was longer than I should have to wait for anything," Jett stood from his seat, fingers still jittering noisily against the island top. It was almost like James had forgotten how important Jett was.

James sauntered over to stand near Jett and leaned against the island, distractedly scrolling through his phone. "Yeah, well, I got kind of…uh, tied up."

"You mean that literally, don't you?" Jett cocked an eyebrow, and James huffed with amusement. He wouldn't ask anything more direct than that; they never asked for specifics, and they never answered when confidential. Neither of them desired being picked off by their respective organizations for being blabbermouths. "Does that have something to do with your change of attire from this morning?

James glanced down at himself before shrugging. "Not important."

"You're right, it's not," Jett took a step closer and snatched the phone from James' hands, dropping it on the island when James made a noise of dismay. "I told you to hurry home for a specific, _obvious _reason, yet you've been here for almost five minutes and we're both _still_ fully clothed. Do you see the problem?" he pinched at the fabric of James' shirt pointedly.

Groaning for whatever childish reason, James shrugged off his leather jacket and slung it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Do we have to do this now? I'm _tiiired_."

Jett wasn't really listening, focusing instead on smoothing his palms down the front of James' t-shirt and underneath until the pads of his fingers slid over the warm skin of James' stomach. "You lost your right to refuse when you took your sweet time getting here." Hoping the conversation would end there, Jett gripped James' hips and attached his lips to James' jaw-line, backing him up and guiding him in the general direction of the bedrooms.

No such luck. "It wasn't _my_ fault! I spent all day trying to – _agh!_" Jett missed the opening of the kitchen and ended backing James into the wall instead. The impact shouldn't have been hard enough to cause pain, but then again Jett was more occupied with marring the perfectly even skin of James' jaw and neck with uneven red and undoing the stupidly tight jeans James' insisted on wearing. "Fuck, be careful, man! I messed up my back today."

Jett pulled away to give James a brief but promising smirk. "I plan on making that pain a little worse, so you should get your complaints out of the way now so I don't have to hear them later."

He saw only a glimpse of James' answering glare before he returned to mouthing at skin just beyond the collar of James' shirt and pushing down James' cursed jeans. "Wait," James starts, "you mean I still don't get to–"

"No. Now, let's go."

After the resistance James had shown and the mumbled "God, damn it", Jett didn't expect the hands at the back of his thighs, clutching and deftly pulling him up to James' waist-level. He was quick to wrap his limbs around James' hips and necks, sure that the oaf would drop him otherwise. James stepped out of the jeans pooled around his ankles with some difficulty and began twisting and fumbling his way to the bedroom they shared while Jett worked on teasing the sensitive spot under James' left ear.

"Weren't you sniveling over your back pain a moment ago?" Jett breathed warmly with his lips grazing over the shell of James' ear, and he could _feel_ the light tremor that ran over James' body through their chests and hips pressed close. "Always lying to get what you want. Such a spoiled brat."

"I wasn't lying!" James responded with an offended lilt and slammed Jett back into the doorjamb, hard enough to send a dull spike of pain down Jett's spine. James snickered at the pained grunt he received – not even the decency to pretend it was accidental. "See? Feels kinda like that, except lower down and to the right."

"_Never _again." Before Jett could seek righteous and possibly immature retribution by chewing a hole through James' neck, he was callously dropped onto the mattress, left to scramble for purchase. "Have you lost your mind?" Jett settled up on his elbows and scowled at the man leisurely pulling down his trousers, and, well he couldn't be too upset with that image.

James didn't acknowledge the taunt until Jett's trousers were off and tossed into the doorway, then he worked on removing the last of his own clothing. "Yeah yeah, let's get this over with. I wanna go to sleep."

"Already? It barely past eleven," Jett remarked a bit absentmindedly, more concerned with the engaging process of James removing his shirt and revealing his ridiculously fit body – with perfectly sculpted abdominal muscles that Jett _wasn't_ envious of – and pushing down his briefs. Only half-hard. "That doesn't give us any time to be adventurous. How boring."

"No thanks, I adventured enough today," James motioned for Jett to remove the rest of the clothes before crouching down to rummage in the nightstand. Jett happily obliged when James tossed a familiar bottle onto the bed, "You can adventure by yourself if you want, I guess."

Jett pursed his lips at James, who was busy glaring at a particularly formidable condom foil, and grabbed the transparent bottle, dripping an appropriate amount of the viscous fluid onto his fingers and frowning at the tingling sensation – James' choice of lubrication, not his. When James climbed on the bed, Jett immediately pushed him to lie on his back, noting the confusion on his face. "I don't know how enjoyable you think this will be when you're this uptight, but you're making my job more difficult," Jett informed and settled between James' legs.

Maybe James was going respond to that, maybe not, Jett didn't really care, but by the time he popped the head of James' cock into his mouth, whatever James was going to say came out as odd little whistle. Jett swirled his tongue around the head idly and stroked James to hardness, tightening his fingers and twisting for the shallow friction James groaned over. Feeling generous, he hummed one of the obnoxious pop tunes James liked to sing while taking more of James' cock, trailing his clean hand up against James' stomach, down to his hips and thighs.

Mindful of his nails, Jett slipped one slickened finger into James without preamble, not that James seemed bothered by it with the way he kept trying bucking his hips to force himself further into Jett's mouth. It was better that way, Jett decided, lightly scraping his teeth down James' dick to distract him from the discomfort – and _whining_ – from added digits.

By the time Jett retracted his fingers, James was nearly over the edge, muttering nonsense and long streams of "Fuck, fuck, fuck yes, fuck," and his hand were clenched tightly in the bedspread, probably to keep from grabbing Jett's head. For those reasons, Jett found it much more enjoyable to pull away, smirking at the flushed glare he received.

"Come now, you don't _really_ want it to be over that quickly, do you?" he teased, leaning back on his hands purposely.

"Shut _uuup_," James pouted and crawled close, brandishing the condom and rolling it over Jett's dick. Jett tried to keep his face to its usual confident perfection, but James was clearly out for revenge, squeezing his dick through the thin barrier and massaging his chest while pushing him on his back, and Jett couldn't help the tiny traitorous moan that escapes his mouth.

"Are you having fun now?" Jett asked, watching James crawl over him with a cheeky grin of his own, simultaneously irritating and attractive.

"Hmm, maybe," James shrugged and moved to kneel with his knees on either side of, ass hovering in perfect position over Jett's cock. With a bit of blind aiming and the steadying of Jett's hands on his hips, James began lowering himself on Jett, grunting periodically in discomfort until he was fully seated on Jett's hips.

Then, there was waiting. And more waiting. And _too much _waiting for Jett when his dick was already nestled in constricting warmth of his boyfriend's admittedly fantastic ass, and why did James think he'd ever want to bottom after feeling something so sinfully good, and there was _still _waiting–

Until James shifted his hips and started moving, bouncing with assistance from Jett hands, and he fisted his own cock and jerked intently – which was good since Jett had no plans on furthering James' stimulation after he was finished. The sounds coming out of his mouth would've been embarrassing were James not making them too, and yeah, Jett could never grow tired of watching James fuck down on his dick when his boyfriend chose the position, not often enough.

It didn't take him long, not after having waited over an hour, and he emptied out into the condom with a low groan, eyes clenched tightly and pushing as far into James as he could. Shutting his eyes turned out to be a hazy miscalculation; maybe if he'd been more alert, he could've stopped James before the sensation of warm jets of come spattered up his torso.

Jett figured that out when he actually gained the wherewithal to _think_ and open his eyes, only to grimace down at the mess covering his stomach, chest and, impressively, his neck. "Could you possibly be viler?" he glared at James, who was more concerned with pushing his brown hair away from his glistening forehead than he was with getting off of Jett.

"Aw, don't like being a jizz rag?" James gave a mocking pout and ran a finger through his come, which didn't last long before Jett sat up sharply, knocking James off balance and making him tumble to the carpet with a yelp.

"Does that answer your question?" Jett chuckled victoriously.

–

…_socially, the story wasn't the same. That detail didn't bother either of them though. Why complicate the relationship with something as unnecessary as liking one another's company outside of the bedroom? _

_That's the mindset both men had, and that's exactly where both men failed – just not with one another._

_Strangely enough, James and Jett meet the unwitting hitch in their "relationship" at different points in the same day. For James…_

–

When the early, _dead_ hours of the morning peeked through the bedroom window, James was glad for his foresight in going to sleep earlier than usual. Almost immediately after he, quite literally, rolled out of bed, the dull notes of his mobile's ringtone floated into his ears. Of course, it took him at least seven minutes before he noticed and crawled out of the bedroom with unintelligible grumbling, not caring if he was loud.

The chilled ceramic tile against his palms and knees served to wake him a little more, but not enough for him to actually stand or anything. His jeans were crumpled on the kitchen floor near the doorway – when did that happen? – and the ringtone had stopped momentarily enough for James to believe he was off the hook, until it started again just as obnoxious as before.

After pulling out several incorrect items from his pockets, James held both his personal and his _work_ mobile in his hands. The noise was blaring from the work mobile. At not even seven in the morning!

_Damn._

James flipped the phone open and laid supine on the cool tile, letting it soothe the dull throbbing in his back. Despite Jett's accusations, James' back really _did_ hurt and he had a large, boot-shaped bruise on his lower back where someone had unsuccessfully tried to kick out his kidney to prove it. Wait, was the kidney on the left side or the right?

"_Please_ tell me this is just a briefing," James spoke in the most pleasant voice he could muster, which wasn't very pleasant at all.

_"Good morning to you too, sunshine. No such luck," _the other end chirped happily in his ear.

"You know, Camille? I hate morning people like you," James grumbled, knowing Camille wouldn't take him seriously.

After a tinkling laugh, she responded,_ "Well, maybe you'll hate me a little less when I tell you it's a local mission."_

"'Local' as in somewhere in the Midwest?" James snorted disbelievingly. His missions were _never_ local, always requiring him to jump into an unmarked vehicle or unlicensed jet at a moment's notice to rush off to some random far corner of the United States. That condition wouldn't have been so bad if not for the inconsistent timing and the uninteresting destinations. Why wasn't he ever needed somewhere fun like Los Angeles or Hawaii?

_"No, 'local' as in Edina, about twenty miles due north of Central."_

James sat up quickly, then immediately regretted his enthusiasm when pain flared in his back. "No way!"

_"Yes way! Oh, but you should probably hurry up before someone dies."_

––

Ten minutes later, James was jogging into the Westin Edina Galleria hotel and feeling no less groggy than when he'd awakened. He hadn't had the chance to shower or to _eat anything_ or to change his outfit – well, that wouldn't matter in a few minutes, but he didn't feel as sparklingly delicious as he should have.

The residents of the hotel always regarded him strangely when he rushed through the lobby, but none of the employees gave him a second glance, most, if not all, knowing exactly who and what he was. James fumbled in his pocket for his ID car and slid it through the terminal of the elevator far into the northernmost corner of the lobby, the elevator reserved for hotel staff members. After checking that no one outside was watching him, he closed the doors and pressed a series of floor numbers – _11, 2, 9, 9, 26, 30, 7, 25, 4, 11, _– before holding down the _B1 _and the emergency stop button simultaneously for precisely fifteen seconds. The elevator started moving, though the digital floor count stayed at _1_.

The doors opened on a corridor lined with gray concrete bricks and nondescript iron doors. James passed them all until he reached the door at the end, then looked up into the unassuming camera above head with eyes opened wide. "James Diamond, ID-6488," he spoke as clearly as he could.

The heavy door hissed open a second later, admitting him. The open area he entered – "the office", as he called it when anyone asked, but officially known as Central – was coated with thick, impenetrable metal on all sides and bustling with operatives on duty, some at computers giving instruction and information to field agents, others running around preparing for deployment. There was a large, one-sided window overlooking the city and letting the sunlight in. To James, it kind of _was_ like an office, except there were guns lined behind all the walls and most of the operatives could kill a person with their bare hands within seconds and–

"_There_ you are!" Heels clicked against the floor behind him and James whipped around to see Camille rushing up to him, manila folder clutched in one hand. "What took you so long? You forgot the elevator passkey again, didn't you?" James huffed and opened his mouth to defend his memory, but Camille began shoving before he could say a word. "No time! You've gotta hurry up and go!"

James craned his head to look back at her, letting her push him down the large hallway, "You still haven't told me what I'm supposed to be doing."

"I didn't? I'm pretty sure I did already," Camille questioned and stopped pushing him along, instead walking alongside him and flipping open her folder. "You remember the group of henchman under Domingo Zagalli who masterminded the assassination of Wisconsin's governor a few days ago, don't you?"

"Kind of," he nodded. Despite the amount of blackmail Governor Allen Tudor was threatened with, he'd refused to stand down from his position. His bravery would've been admirable…were he not buried.

"Well, one of the members of the group caved and ratted himself out to the authorities yesterday. Probably knew he was going to be caught sooner or later and decided to give up," Camille nodded to herself. "The rest of them were forced to run off to avoid arrest, and guess what lovely little town they chose for their vacation?"

James hummed with curiosity when they turned the corner into the outfitting room. "Why would they come _here_ of all places? What's in Edina?" he questioned while opening his locker, removing his shirt unabashed of Camille's presence.

She shrugged with a perplexed expression, "Maybe they like cold weather or something, how should _I _know? I don't have a criminal's thought process."

_That_ was something James was willing to debate, but he was supposed to be rushing and teasing would probably waste time. "How many do I have to handle?"

Camille flipped through her folder again before answering. "Lookout says they split up once they got into town, so you don't have to worry about a horde. Stephanie and two of the Jennifers are already after the first five. The other four were last seen near the midtown science museum, so you and the leftover Jennifer will take care of them. I should have a virtual schematic for the building set up on my system by the time you get there," she waved her folder in the air.

"A museum? Gross," James grimaced at the thought while slipping on his under-armor.

"You don't have to _learn_ anything, James," Camille rolled her eyes. "Just make sure no one dies…if you can help it."

James paused in the middle of removing his jeans. "Wait, there're hostages?" That made his job a _lot_ harder.

"We're not sure, but don't rule it out as a possibility. Weirdos and the elderly love going to museums."

––

To avoid detection should any of the targets be on lookout, James and Curly Jennifer, as he'd titled her, landed on the rooftop of an office a few buildings away from the museum, fully suited in black and armed as necessary, face guards covering all but their eyes already protected by tinted visors. After ensuring that they were clear to proceed, both began to sprint across the rooftops, easily clearing the gaps between buildings until they reached the museum.

James edged over to the front of the building, carefully peeking over to check for their targets on the front steps of the museum. Seeing no one, he tacitly signaled to Jennifer for her to wait on the roof as back-up. She rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and tapped her foot in response, which was roughly her signal for 'I don't care, just hurry up'. James didn't respond and switched on the communicator in his ear. "Entry point?"

"_Air duct on the southeast corner of the roof,"_ Camille supplied on cue. James followed her direction and made a disgruntled noise; _of course_ he had to crawl through a filthy, cramped, bug-infested ventilation system. Heaven forbid someone put an accessible window in a museum!

And he'd thought they couldn't possibly be worse.

After removing the air filter, James slid down into the duct, landing in a low, silent crouch and peering into the scarcely lit space. Nothing suspicious. "Where to?"

There was the sound of rapid clicking before Camille answered, _"There's a small custodial closet a few meters from your current position. I'll guide you to it." _James nodded unnecessarily and switched on his helmet light for better visual, agile and silent as he began slinking through the vents. He could hear sounds from beneath him as he passed over room, muffled words and clicking objects and heavy footsteps.

Over halfway through to his destination, James suddenly let out a peep when his light passed over something and halted, quiet enough for the sound not to escape the vents but loud to alert Camille. "What's wrong? Did someone see you? Are you hurt?"

"No," James shook his head and gazed fearfully at the tiny _beast_ currently skittering away. "Spider."

A small pause. _"Oh, my god, you are the biggest baby."_

"_You're_ not the one who almost died!" he hissed back, eyes following the spider until it disappeared through the grate ahead. Sighing in relief, James planned on continuing on until he heard talking, voices more audible than previous.

James peered through the slits to see a group of people huddled up near a model of what looked liked Mars, and another man, sandy blond, dressed in camouflage and _armed_, was pacing around the room, muttering curses and occasionally barking at the group and threatening them with his gun.

Unsure of his next action, James sat back and whispered into his link, "There _are_ hostages."

"_Then you've got to hurry to that closet. You're not far from it now," _urged Camille.

But James didn't want to risk that; the armed man was anxious and irate, James could tell from his uneasy movements, and someone like that could be set off at any moment. The last thing James wanted was to waste time playing it safe only to lose an innocent life. Hell, he wouldn't have been in the profession he was in now if he liked playing it safe.

"_Why aren't you moving? You're not trying to rush in, are you?"_

He was in the process of silently removing the grate – and hoping the spider wouldn't come back for revenge – when he responded, decision already made. "I've got it covered."

"_James! Just…ugh, be careful!" _He was glad Camille knew him well enough not bother trying to change his mind.

Grate successfully moved, James poked his head out of the duct to better view the surroundings. The room was large, but only the one man was guarding the hostages, and he was walking around in circles and occasionally peeking out of a large window on the far side of the room. The group was, as Camille had predicted, mainly comprised of old people along with two uniformed curators, an unarmed security guard, and what looked to be a young man in front of the group. Obviously in the weirdo category.

Unable to help his himself, James' eyes roved over the man appraisingly from his styled dark hair to his creased slacks and nodded appreciatively. Good-looking weirdo.

Apparently he'd looked for too long, because moments later, wide brown eyes flew up to meet his. James panicked briefly; the guy was looking _directly_ at him and would give away his position when the henchman turned around, so he quickly brought his index finger to his lips in silent pleading. The guy's eyes shined with realization and he dropped his gaze immediately, focus back on the henchman.

James' eyes followed the henchman carefully as well, waiting for the perfect chance to strike; missing would mean the end of him and the hostages, so he only had one shot. The henchman was too nervous though, and whenever he walked underneath the vent opening, he moved too quickly for James hit, and figuring out how to perfectly time his strike in time with the henchman's steps was too much brain-work for James to manage successfully.

He was ready to give up and attempt shooting the henchman with his tranquilizer gun – he admitted to himself that he wasn't the _best_ shot in the world, but he was running out of options – until he heard the tiniest of jingles. The young man, the weirdo, was pulling something out of his pocket…a ring of keys? James watched curiously as the man tossed the keys so they landed raucously underneath the duct opening. What the hell was he doing?

"What the fuck is this?" the henchman growled and stomped over to the discarded keys, bending over to snatch them up – _directly_ beneath James, and then he understood.

He was quick to act, dropping down from the vent so his knees collided with the henchman's back solidly. The henchman plunged headlong into the floor, skull colliding hard enough to knock him unconscious, the clatter of his fallen gun muffled by his body. James grinned triumphantly behind his face guard and expertly stripped the man of his weapons and other items before binding his wrists behind his back.

When he looked up, most of the hostages gave him various expressions of fear, all except for the nameless man with now curious eyes. James wanted to thank him for his assistance or praise his impressive aim, but he was sort of in a rush. Instead, he tossed the henchman's gun to the security guard, who caught it clumsily, and signaled for them all to stay put.

Just when he was at the exit of the area and peering around the corner, James heard a whispered, "Wait!" and turned to see the nameless man rushing up to him with quiet. Shocked, James tried to gesture for the man to halt or back away, but the frantic gestures were ignored.

"What are you _doing_?" James hissed when the man crouched next to him. "Go back and wait with the others."

The man shook his head, "I'm coming with you."

"_Who in the world are you talking to?" _Camille piped up in his ear.

"What? No way, you've gotta stay here," James pointed to huddled group of people sternly, not that the man seemed to pay his order much attention.

"I can't!"

"You _have_ to. It's way too dangerous to follow me," James tried shoving him back.

Still, the man persisted, "It's more dangerous for me to wait back there! Most likely, you're more skilled in close-quarters-combat and firearms than that security guard, and you're more properly geared to handle one of those guys. Though you're probably taking an offensive route and searching them out, my chances of survival are twenty-eight percent higher by going with you. Besides, waiting behind without knowing whether one of those thugs will come in and blast me full of holes will make nervous and panicky and I just wanna leave!"

Taken back by the amount of words and the unexpected spasmodic logic, James was reduced to blinking silently. _"He's got a point, you know,"_ Camille chipped in, though she probably didn't fully know the situation.

"Not now," James grunted into the communicator, prompting a curious look from the slightly annoying man, so James turned a glare on him – ineffective as it was with the visor covering his eyes. "You're just going to get in the way if you tag along."

"I can help you out."

James snorted, "Who says I need help?" Never mind Jennifer waiting as his back-up on the roof. The man quirked an eyebrow, and James had to remember that the man _had _helped him out just a few minutes ago. "All right, all right. What can you do? Can you…fight?"

"Not really."

"Are you good with a gun?"

"I've never held one before."

"Then how the hell can you help?" James fought the urge to flail childishly, because they were getting absolutely _nowhere_.

The useless man tapped his finger against his skull with a confident nod. "I can use my head."

James gasped and leaned in conspiratorially, "Can you, like, mind-wipe them like the bald guy from _X-Men?"_

The possibly mutated man blinked silently for a moment, then looked at James as if he'd gone crazy. "Uh, no? I meant my intelligence. Y'know, thinking?" he explained, tapping his head harder for emphasis.

"…thinking? _I _could think if I wanted to!" Not that he wanted to very often, but the point still stood. He pretended not to hear the unbelieving snort in his ear.

"Look, no matter what you say, I'm going to follow you anyway, so we might as well stop wasting time," the man said, mouth set in a firm, stubborn line.

Though he wasn't a fan of losing arguments, losing a life would probably worse. James conceded, grunting his assent and going back to peering into the wide corridor. There was no one, nothing but hanging signs advertising various exhibits and colorful murals of science-y stuff along the walls, dimly lit. He set off down the hallway on light feet, sidling along the wall. He didn't check to see if the definitely annoying man was following him, but he didn't hear any steps behind him, so at least he knew to be silent.

Sunlight shined into the hall through the opening to another exhibit and James halted at the edge of the opening, holding up his palm for the man to do the same. He peeked into the exhibit slowly, carefully, to find another armed henchman leaning against a platform near the display of an enormous dinosaur skeleton.

Cursing inwardly, James retreated and pressed his back against the wall, gnawing at his lip with frustration. The henchman's focus was directly on the opening and his position was near the center of the exhibit. Trying to rush in and disarm the henchman before he opened fire was no good. Just as well, James' marksmanship handicap came back to hinder him; he couldn't jump into view and shoot the target because, well, he'd most likely miss. He needed another plan.

"How many are there?" came a furtive whisper from behind. James turned his view to the curious expression on the nameless man's face and shrugged. He couldn't see into the exhibit with the henchman looming in sight, so he couldn't be sure if there was one guy or three. The nameless man's eyes furrowed in thought and he was nodding to himself as if he understood something – James had no idea what.

Then he was _standing_ and starting to walk off toward the opposite side of the hall. Alarmed, James attempted to grab the nameless man's arm to stop whatever stupid, deadly action he was trying to commit, but his hand only grasped air. "Don't worry," the increasingly stupid man said when he was far enough away, giving James a nervous grin, "I'm use to being bait." James wasn't given time to ponder the meaning of the statement before the obviously suicidal man was walking into the sunlight with his hands up in surrender and a…whistled tune on his lips.

The ominous click of a cocked shotgun echoed in James' ear, followed by a gruff, "What the – why the hell are you over here? Get back with the others!"

James could only see the nameless man's reaction, eyes widening and floundering for something to say. "Oh, I was just, y'know, checking out the exhibit. They've got some pretty interesting stuff here. Did you know that the Ceratopsians that existed during the late Cretaceous period were actually herbivores?" The man explained while waving his index finger in the air conspicuously. Like, a _really_ unnecessary amount of frantic waving, and he was doing it sort of like he wanted James to notice it, which didn't–

One finger. One.

_One_ henchman.

"So movies like, say, _Jurassic Park_ that popularized the characteristic of the Ceratopsians being flesh eating reptilians are, in fact, historically inaccurate. And to add to that, some of the–"

"I said get back with the others!" The henchman was moving closer, James could hear the heavy steps against the linoleum. He pressed himself into the shadows just as the barrel of the henchman's shotgun appeared, aimed directly at the nameless man's chest. This one was larger and bald, James noted, but he was wearing very little protection – an easy takedown.

The nameless man's nonexistent confidence waned more and more with the shrinking distance between he and the gun, but that didn't stop his mouth. "A-are you sure you don't want to know more? I haven't even touched on the common misplacement of pterosaurs among land–"

"I don't know how you slipped past Collins, but if you don't get back with the others right now, I'm gonna blast your fucking–" the henchman started, but with his focus fully on the nameless man, James didn't give him the chance to finish. James sped in behind and wrapped his arms around the thug's neck, pressing down carefully where he knew the henchman's – carrot? – arteries were. The nameless man moved out of the shotgun's aim as quickly as possible, not that it mattered; the henchman dropped the gun in his haste to vainly claw at James' iron-clad grip.

In a matter of seconds, he was out. James dropped him to the ground unceremoniously and bounded his arms behind his back, making sure he had no other weapons on him. When James stood, he offered an enthusiastic high-five to the nameless man – he couldn't bother with professionalism, half-baked plans that turned out successful were his favorite to undertake. The adrenaline coursing through him was too pleasant to ignore. "Nice teamwork, man!"

The frazzled man tore his gaze away from the shotgun, the one that'd been literally seconds from taking his life, and met James' high-five with a weak but genuine grin – _dimples_, James noted. Very nice. "Yeah…we pulled it off. Christ, that was close," he breathed, running a hand through dark locks.

"Yeah, but you went in there are all bad-ass and started talking about cero…certo…I don't even know, whatever! I mean, do you, like, work around danger or something?"

The nameless – James really had to find out his name at some point – man snorted, "Sure, the library's very dangerous, if potentially having misplaced encyclopedias fall on your head counts as 'dangerous'." He looked around, up and down the hall and into the dinosaur exhibit, then to James. "Shouldn't we be finding those other criminals so you can…uh," he paused, then made a vague choking motion with his hands.

By reflex, James _almost_ made a comment both suggestive and inappropriate, but he bit his tongue at the last moment. "Right, yeah, good idea," James nodded and, frowning into the darkness over the man's head, because he had a problem, unrelated to the henchman or whatever he was doing. He was curious – about the intelligent man with adorable dimples whose name he'd yet to learn – and Curious James and Focused James didn't really mix at all, not with all the questions buzzing around in his head, questions that distracted him from…what was he doing?

James' gaze dropped absently to the nameless man's moving lips, humming lowly to himself. Curious James and Horny James mixed, interestingly enough, but that wasn't related.

Then, James realized that the man invading his brain was saying things. His gaze snapped up to meet deep, brown, confused eyes. "Huh?"

The man furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. James couldn't figure out why the expression was so attractive. "I said those thugs were talking about guarding the exits before they trapped us, so maybe we can find one of them at the main entrance."

That sounded like a good idea, so James agreed with another nod. "All right, that's do that."

"_Do you even need my help anymore?"_ the communicator buzzed to life. James didn't like the amusement he heard in Camille's voice.

"You could lead me to the main entrance," James said, ignoring her tone. He expected another confused look from the nameless man, but instead only saw patience. Had he figured it out already?

"_Sure you don't want to ask your _friend_ for help?"_

"Not now," James hissed.

After a small giggle, she was all business again. _"You're in the main hall now. Follow the southern path and you'll find the main entrance."_

After remembering which way was south, James resumed slinking noiselessly through the building, this time _hoping_ the nameless man was following him. Gradually, the hall began to curve and brighten with the presence of natural sunlight, telling James they were fast approaching the main doors, along with more danger. His steps became more cautious and he blindly motioned for the man to lay low, figuring he was smart enough to read the sign.

At their slow pace, it took them a while before James saw the main lobby, sunlight illuminating the banners, the glass cases filled with priceless objects and the large marble statue of a censored naked guy. They halted at the corner just before they can come into view and James quickly searched out the remaining henchmen. He only found one, a short, dark-haired man in a ratty leather jacket whose attention was fully on the doors, gun at the ready.

The second time around, James was unwilling to let his new companion risk his life; he probably wouldn't be able to talk with a blown off head. In fact, James sort of wanted to impress the man – he _was_ the hero, _he_ should've been doing awesome things. Of course, the distance between his current and that of the henchman was too great for him to avoid being shot if he tried rushing a close quarters attack – his job was never easy – so he pulled his tranquilizer gun from its holster and aimed as carefully he could–

"You're not going to _kill_ him, are you?"

James flinched and pulled out of sight to turn around, wishing the man could see his annoyance. "It's a tranq gun, dude. Chill out." The worry eased from the paranoid man's face, and James tried again to aim at the henchman, instructions from shooting practice during his recruitment days whirling through his head.

"Why're you holding it like that?"

Again, James flinched and pulled out of sight, glaring fiercely because he wanted the man to _feel_ his irritation. "What're you talking about?" he whispered through clench teeth.

"The gun," the nameless man pointed informatively. "You were gripping it really tightly, like you wanted to crush it. I don't think that's good for shooting."

Confused, James looked down at the gun, flexing his hand experimentally. He hadn't even known he'd been holding it tightly. "I thought you said you never held a gun before," James said with suspicion in his voice.

"I haven't, I just know that clenching your hand that tightly for any purpose is usually a hindrance."

With eyes so earnest and unblinking, James was inclined to believe his companion. He concentrated on keeping grip on the gun loose but firm and aimed for a third time, thanking the heavens that the henchman wasn't smart enough to check his surroundings periodically. Sight set on the henchman's neck, James' shot…

…and planted a syringe his shoulder blade. Close enough.

After a bit of futile reaching for the syringe and pained grunting, the downed thug stumbled into a door and slid to the floor, unconscious. James didn't pay as much attention to that as he should have, more focused on the fact that _he hit his target_ and not the beam seven feet to the left. He wanted to cheer, he wanted to shout and jump and do other electrified things that would more than likely give away his position, and he only barely restrained himself.

Not only was his companion good looking and smart and kind of awesome, he was also a _wizard_!

"Nice shot," the wizard praised with a toothy smile, and James beamed with pride, wishing his helmet was off so he could flip his hair nonchalantly – really, it was the perfect moment. In fact, it was the perfect moment for a lot of things, like another congratulatory high-five or maybe a hug or maybe even a kiss.

Which was where Curious James started moving into dangerous territory. "Yeah, thanks to your help."

The man shrugged modestly, "I didn't really do anything. Maybe I could've brought a weapon of my own if I'd known my day was going to be this exciting."

"That's what you get for going to a museum this early in the morning."

"Hey, it was the only time in the day I could find where it was still open," he bristled. James didn't even try to comprehend someone willingly setting aside time in their day to go to a museum.

"_Um, we have a problem. Err, two problems, actually."_

James glanced at the nameless, who was looking around warily, then turned around, pressing his communicator close to his ear. "What is it?"

Before she could answer, James heard the high whine of police sirens fast approaching and guessed what one of the problems was. _"Well, first, one of the people you freed must have called the police, because they're on their way. Second, Jennifer just reported seeing a figure in black bolting out of the back exit of the museum. Have any idea who that was?"_

"Uhh…," James pulled up his visor and counted the number of bad guys he'd taken down with his fingers, then recounted just to make sure. "Shit, they got away?"

"_I guess so. Jennifer's already on her way to the rendezvous point, you need to hurry up and get out of there."_

"Right. Lead me to that janitor's closet?"

"_On it."_

He probably should've been rushing with the threat of law enforcement growing ever closer and a criminal on the loose and a checkpoint to meet, but all of that seemed a little less important than finding a way to make his last moments with his interesting new companion special. He was never one to question his own priorities.

James faced his companion slowly, biting his lip to think of something to say, perfect and suave and possibly magical, to find that brown eyes were already on staring back at him, blinking in surprise and...was that a blush?

"Woah," the man breathed, then seemed to hear himself and covered up his outburst with a cough. "Sorry, it's just, uh…eyes. Yeah," he rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly.

It took James a few seconds to realize the man was talking about _his _eyes, which were apparently enough to stupefy now that the visor was out of the way, and _that_ was perfect for him to leave on. "Glad to know you think so, cutie, but I gotta run."

The sound of sirens was almost deafening now, accompanied by the slam of car doors. James sprinted past the unfortunately still nameless man and down the hallway, proud of himself for only checking back once to make sure that, yep, the man was watching him go. There was something in his pocket jingling noisily with his every step, something he'd confiscated from one of the henchman.

By the James reached the rooftop, the jingling sound was _really _starting to get on his nerves. He searched through his pockets, hoping it was nothing vital that he could toss away, only to pull out a ring of keys – the key the helpful man had thrown before! James grinned and looked through the keys, knowing he would find something, anything telling about the man he'd left behind. Someone smart like that would have some way for keys to be returned

There was one unassuming key ring ornament, white laminated paper encased in plastic with information in bold black letters, that widened James' grin. Now his man was no longer nameless.

–

…_and for Jett…_

–

For Jett, waking up for the first big stretch of the day and finding he had endless empty space on his bed was the perfect way to start the morning. So perfect, in fact, that he decided to go back to sleep, limbs spread wide along the mattress. Two hours later, he was in the kitchen sipping black coffee and leisurely chewing on biscotti – almond and hazelnut, his favorite – already showered and dressed for the day.

He had only one work-related task for the day, literally the worst part of the job for him – being held at gunpoint and dislocated shoulders included – and he planned on putting it off for as long as he possibly could, which meant he occupied hours of time with television, coordinating outfits for the week, texting friends he didn't like, and perfecting his gorgeous facial expressions in the bathroom mirror.

By the time he finished procrastinating for as long as he could, it was only half-past noon, leaving him plenty of time to complete the task. The thought left a sour gurgle in his stomach, but he resigned himself to the torture, snagging his keys from living area table on his way out the door.

Less than twenty minutes later, Jett was glaring up at the concrete and glass fortress of agony. The Edina Public Media Center – library – glared right back at him, _hissed _and _growled_ at him, daring him to enter its walls and suffer the fate of the intellectually impaired individuals who were unfortunate enough enter.

_No_, he wasn't being the least bit dramatic.

There were only a few people looming around the bookcases and ticking away on computer keys, and Jett didn't hide his disgusted grimace from any of them. He already envied everyone who _didn't_ have to waste their time there. Still, he had work to do, and silently judging everyone in the area wasn't going to get him out any quicker.

That settled, Jett walked around library aimlessly, only having a vague idea of what he was looking for. He spent the time during his search turning his nose up to anyone unattractive who looked his way and conspicuously peeking over patrons' shoulders to scoff at whatever uninteresting things they were using the computers for. At rare times, he saw titles on the spines of books that appeared to be interesting, but they were all lies! Nothing but small printed text.

Finally, he found a rack of ridiculously large books near the main desk and sighed in relief – one step closer to leaving. The encyclopedias were old and mostly torn, missing full pages or stained with ominously vibrant colors. Jett didn't realize that they'd been organized by alphabet and date until he was one-third through the collection, tossing the useless ones onto the floor behind him without a care. Somewhere along the line, he'd lost the _B_ series.

Behind him, someone deliberately cleared their throat. "Um, can I _help_ you, sir?"

Jett didn't bother turning around, busy flipping through _Q. _"Yes, you can pick those up," he waved a hand dismissively at the pile on the floor, "and get them out of my way. Stack them somewhere neatly, while you're at it."

He didn't hear the intruder heeding his command. In fact, there was almost a burning sensation on his neck where he could _feel_ a glare aimed his way. Then, the person spoke again, sounding more taxed than he had previously. "No, I meant help find what you're looking so you can get out quicker."

Well, _that_ wasn't a pleasant tone. Jett frowned and snapped the encyclopedia shut, dropping it on the carpet when he stood and turned to face the person, the man, with an unimpressed eyebrow. "Listen here…" Jett stooped down briefly to read the badge hanging around the man's neck, "…_Logan_, I'm an important person, which means I'm free to lounge around and do whatever awful things anyone else does here _without_ a nasally voice ushering me along. Understand?"

The Logan fellow didn't react the way Jett wanted, not with fear or insult or even hurt. Instead, he blinked curiously and asked, "So you _don't_ want to get of here faster?"

As painfully true as that was, Jett wasn't willing to give him the satisfaction of being correct. "That's none of your concern," Jett huffed.

"It kinda is, since I work here and all," Logan shrugged.

"You must be _so_ proud of your accomplishments."

His words must have hit a nerve, because the curiosity in Logan's eyes hardened into annoyance. "Fine, it's your choice. Nevertheless, I've had a pretty shit day so far, and I'd like it if you didn't make it worse, so please refrain from making anymore disturbances, facial or," his gaze drops to the pile of books at his feet, "_otherwise_, else I'll have to ask you to leave."

When Logan stooped down to organize the books, Jett sneered at the top of his spiky dark-brown hair before returning to his own work. About two seconds in, he remembered how absolutely _boring_ researching was and groaned lowly, dropping whatever book he was flipping through haphazardly on the rack. He didn't want to swallow his pride and accept assistance from someone mildly annoying, but he could spare a little to end the pain of learning, right? Just a little.

Jett whipped around to Logan with a trained face and asked, "How much do you know?"

After stacking the final book onto his pile, Logan turned to Jett. "How much do I know about what?"

"Things, the world, history and all that drivel."

Logan shrugged, "A lot, I guess."

"All right then, I've decided to let you help me find something, only because you begged so desperately," Jett nodded affirmatively, missing the glare Logan shot him.

"If you're looking for coloring books to check out, they're over there," Logan pointed toward some random area of the library. "Along the back wall."

"What? Really?" At his words, Jett perked up and followed the direction Logan was pointing in, trying to crane his head to get a view of the coloring books around pointless bookcases, before a thought occurred to him and his excitement plummeted. He turned unamused eyes on Logan. "Wait just a minute, you can't fool me. If the coloring books are able to be rented, all the pages will already be colored in. What good is that?"

Logan blinked blankly at him, mostly likely stunned by his ingenuity, then gave a short, choked laugh. "Wow, you're smarter than I thought you were."

_Definitely_ stunned by his ingenuity. Jett didn't bother hiding his smirk – not that he usually ever did. "I know. I hear that a lot." There was amusement on Logan's face for some reason, but Jett didn't care enough to question it. "Tell me what you know about a relic called The Bay…Bye…," Jett snapped his fingers absentmindedly to try and spark his memory, "…Bai…Bai-Something Bracelet, I don't know."

"The _Bai Nuhuang_ Bracelet?" Logan supplied, a strange electric twinkle in his eyes.

"That's it!" No wonder he couldn't think of it, it wasn't even English! "You know of it?" Logan nodded, and Jett almost smiled. "Excellent. Tell me what you know."

Logan didn't hesitate for a second, seeming oddly enthusiastic about sharing knowledge. How weird was that? "Well, the title of the artifact actually translates to The 'White Empress' Bracelet, because during some disputed time period in Chinese history, the bracelet was worn by a woman only known as White Empress for her beautiful pale skin.

"She'd received the bracelet from her husband, Emperor Gao, as a promise of his loyalty and faithfulness to her. However, several years later, the emperor began to develop feelings for one of the empress' chambermaids, Xiao Xiao. When the empress discovered his affections for someone who _wasn't_ her, she got insanely jealous and wanted the servant dead, so she accused the servant of stealing one of her finest silk garments and had her executed. The emperor discovered the empress' lie and became enraged, so to sever the loyalty he no longer felt for her, he…had her arm cut off with the bracelet still on her wrist. That's all the history there is to it, I think."

After letting all the rapidly spewed information sink in, Jett wasn't any happier at the gained knowledge. He hadn't known _any _of that when he'd first heard of the bracelet, and he wasn't so sure he still wanted it. "You mean to tell me the bracelet was attached to a _severed _limb?"

Logan tilted his head, "What do you mean 'was'? It still is, as far as I know. She was buried with the arm after she died from blood lost in the emperor's garden."

Yeah, he _definitely_ didn't want the bracelet anymore. Something like that was probably to be cursed and covered in corpse grime. He wanted to gag at the thought. "How did this empress even find out about his affections?"

"Letters," Logan said, as if it was _obvious_. "I don't know what it is about historical affaires, but for some reason, they love leaving a paper trail. Oh, like, during the nineteenth century, the baron of–"

"Don't care," Jett held up a hand to silence Logan. "Why exactly do you know these things?"

"Uh, because I like history? It's interesting."

Jett grimaced, "That's a disgusting thing to say."

"You're weird," Logan declared, though Jett could hear the humor in his voice, "and I have to get back to work." He crouched down to heft up the books he'd stacked and sidestepped Jett, setting them neatly on the rack before walking behind the front desk.

Though Jett wasn't keen on the idea of staying in a _library_ of all places, he didn't have any further plans for the day now that he had no interest in lifting a bracelet still wrapped around a skeletal empress' bony wrist. His potential mission for the day was scrapped and, well, Logan wasn't exactly hideous. Weird, but not hideous. In fact, were Jett a more generous person, he'd call Logan cute, with his lips pursed and his eyes focused on whatever uninteresting thing he was scribbling down on his clipboard.

Okay, maybe he was a _tad_ generous.

He leaned on the desk on his elbows, giving Logan a disbelieving look. "Are you saying that your work is more interesting than _me_?"

Logan eyed him with a surprised expression, then his lips spread into small smile – Jett _knew_ that was the effect of his charm. "Not at all, but if I don't order these personalized index cards, no one will."

"Really, now? You can't be that interested. You haven't even asked for my name yet. That's very rude of you, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you, but okay then," Logan tapped his pen against the clipboard, probably figuring he wasn't going to get any work done for the moment. "What's your name, stranger?"

Jett gave a put-upon sigh, "Well, if you _must_ know…"

"Oh, god," Logan rolled his eyes.

"It's Jett Stetson. Remember it."

Logan had a retort ready for it, Jett could tell from the way his lips tightened around a smile, but he nodded instead. How boring. "I'll keep that in mind, Jett Stetson. If I'm allowed to be more…_interested_ in you, what part of your studies _slash_ job requires you to look up morbid historical romance?"

That was a dangerous question, and Jett paused to make sure he could answer vaguely enough not to reveal anything important. "The part that involves stunning ancient jewelry."

"'Stunning'?" Logan snorted. "That bracelet's the definition of gaudy. I can't believe the empress actually wanted to wear it every day."

An image of the bracelet flashed through his head – meticulously crafted and interwoven gold and silver threads, a delicately cut emerald stone atop – and narrowed his eyes at Logan. "The bracelet _I _remember seeing was stunning. Perhaps you just have no eye for quality. No surprise there," he sniffed.

"Or maybe you're just into loud, annoyingly flashy jewelry. No surprise there," Logan replied, grinning at the downturn of Jett's lips.

"Don't pretend you wouldn't love owning something that expensive."

"I wouldn't," Logan answers without hesitation. "Things like that only bring trouble. I don't like trouble," he shakes his head vehemently. "In fact, after today, I'm going to do my best to avoid all sources of trouble, which means I'm probably not going to the museum anytime soon, 'cause let me tell you, it's not as fun as you…"

Jett nodded along with Logan's words, though he wasn't actually listening. He was busy wondering if Logan was as genuine as he said himself to be – people weren't just _modest_ like that, no way could Logan resist temptation were it directly within his grasp. Then, he wondered exactly how many limits he could push before he was discharged, so to speak, from his organization.

"Do you work tomorrow?" Jett interrupted whatever Logan was talking about.

Logan hesitated, "Uhh, yeah, same time. Why?"

Jett gave no audible answer, only pointed at Logan in what he considered to be a meaningful gesture and started off toward the library's entrance. The message hadn't been received, if the confused look on Logan's face was any indication, but that wasn't Jett's problem.

He had things to do.

_–_

___…_the connection was instant.


	2. Part 2

**Title: **To Explore, to Display (Part 2)

**Characters/Pairings: **Jett/Logan/James (in every variation), Camille, Jennifer, Kendall.

**Spoilers: **Alternate universe. The band _Big Time Rush_ does not exist.

**Rating: **NC-17 (PG-13 for Part 2)

**Warnings:** Sexual content, polyamory, language, light violence.

**Word Count: **8.8k.

**Summary:** James and Jett have always had a relationship of convenience. When Logan involuntarily steps between the two of them, the relationship becomes decidedly…less convenient, to put it mildly.

**Author Note:** What exactly James and Jett _separately_ do for a living, you may piece it together immediately, you may not understand until the end. It's not too important. Also, I can't promise that my knowledge of history is accurate, because I hate history. Minor research was done (I probably should've watched a spy movie at some point, sploops). This story is labeled _Part_ for a reason; don't expect anything competent like regular updates.

This story was prompted by and is dedicated to **joyousbrokenthing**, because Jett is the only acceptable addition to her (our) precious Jagan.

**Disclaimer:** I don't claim jack-diddly, including the references to _Tangled_ and other popular media. This story is loosely based off a movie I've never seen, _This Means War_.

_Were they more mature and less volatile, dealing with one another's diverging affections _could_ have gone more smoothly…_

–

By the time Jett walked through the door to his condominium, the purpose he'd seen so clearly only minutes before was a muddled mess in his head.

What exactly was he doing administering a test on a man he'd only just met, and what did he expect to gain from it? He didn't know nearly enough about Logan, only that he was unnecessarily intelligent, had a penchant for sarcasm, had _no_ taste in jewelry, and had a stupidly cute smile. The only other thing Jett could guess was the absence of a boyfriend; no way was someone like Logan involved and still flirting.

Was that enough reason for him to do something reckless?

Yes, Jett decided easily, and not just because he was tired of questioning morality already.

Maybe Logan _specifically_ wasn't worth any risk, but that indistinct sensation Jett got when talking with Logan – no, not the confusion or the annoyance, but the pleasant thrum of excitement through his muscles and quickened pace of his heartbeat from only a few exchanged words – _was_ worth the risk. It was exciting. It was _refreshing._ Being able to flirt with someone gave him an anticipation he hadn't felt since he'd settled with James.

After spending over a year somewhat tied down to someone he didn't like, someone so conceited and _airheaded_ and shallow, and falling into a repetitive, though gratifying, pattern of romance, Logan was a welcome change.

_Heavens_, was James shallow.

But Jett didn't want to invest any time in chasing Logan only to find him disingenuous somewhere down the line. People with too many secrets were a hassle – this, he knew personally – and he didn't want hassle or complication, he wanted simple…which didn't really explain why he was chasing after someone who seemed to know too much, but that was a concern for later. Maybe _after_ Logan proved to be a simple undertaking.

Before any sort of chase began, however, Jett needed to clear away other obstacles – tall, whiny, brunet obstacles. Jett was a lot of, mostly wonderful, things, but he wasn't a cheater. And, well, now he had the perfect reason to get rid of James.

When James finally strolled in, Jett was seated on the couch and had already rehearsed his speech to break up with James, complete with poignant facial expressions and dramatic pauses, almost as if he was a skilled actor. Something else he was excellent at! James' eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him, which was odd since Jett _lived_ there, but Jett didn't really care about the emotions James found necessary to feel at random.

"We need to have words," Jett spoke solemnly, pointing to the seat next across from him.

James rolled his eyes, "Can't just say 'Let's talk' like a normal person?" but sat down in the indicated seat anyway, propping a leg up on his knee. Then, he moved with his elbows on his knees, and shifted into another position seconds later. He was restless, that much was obvious, but Jett didn't let it bother him.

He cleared his throat and looked off to the side on cue, gazing ruefully at a shade-less lamp. "Listen, James, this isn't easy for me to say, but…," he gave a concerned sigh, "…I've been thinking a lot about us – you and I – and all the good times we've shared together."

James appeared mildly confused, which Jett had planned for as well.

"You know, the great sex, staring at each other, working out together occasionally," he clarified.

"Ohh," James nodded.

"Right, and as extremely rewarding as all of that is, maybe there's more to a relationship than just sex. Not much more, mind you, but obviously something better than whatever it is we have now." Jett laid a consoling hand on James' knee. "Now, I know this sort of change might be difficult for you, but trust me, it's for the best when I say –,"

"I think we should see other people," James interjected easily, patting Jett's hand.

Jett paused, stupefied, mouth hung open and grip on James' knee growing tighter by the second, then he stood with a flourish. "_Excuse_ me? _You're _breaking up with _me? _How – how could you? How _dare_ you!" he scowled.

For his part, James looked confused and held up his hands in a placating manner. "Woah, I didn't think you'd care really care, man. You like me that much, eh?"

"I don't care about _you_," Jett scoffed. "You rudely interrupted the climax of my monologue just so you could say what I was going to say!" Not only that, but he'd just ruined Jett's perfect record of never having been dumped. At least _one _of them had the decency to break up with someone formally and artistically. "And just what in heaven's name are you breaking up with me for anyway? It's not like anyone else is going to put up with your nonsense."

James shrugged and leaned back in his seat. "I met someone I like, and I can't go after him if I'm all tied down to you. Well, at least I don't _think_ he'd be into that…," James trailed off and tapped his index finger to his chin, a far off look in his eyes.

"Is he better looking than me?" Jett questioned with a voice full of disbelief, because with _his_ face, that was pretty impossible.

Again, James shrugged, an action that was beginning to grate on Jett's nerve. "Don't care. He's awesome and knows stuff and he likes my eyes," he smiled serenely. "I bet he'll write a full page about them in his wedding vows to me."

That ditzy, romantic glint in James' eyes was shining brightly, and Jett screwed his face in disgust. "You just met him and already you're talking about marriage? I dodged a bullet," he muttered the last part to himself, not that James was paying attention. "Does he know about your 'job'?"

"No," James answered instantly, then stopped to think, something he _never_ did. "I mean, I'm pretty sure he doesn't, but he is kinda magically smart. Like a wizard."

Jett shook his head dismissively, "Whatever, I don't care." It was no business of his if James ended up with a bullet through his head for poor secrecy. "If you plan on moving out, could you do so while I'm not home?"

"Nah, I'm staying. The other room works fine."

"Your choice," the corner of Jett's mouth tilted up and he pointed vaguely to the direction of the bedrooms. "You can start moving your things out of the master bedroom immediately. Your questionable fashion choices are taking up enough space in _my _closet."

"Woah, wait, what?" James jumped to his feet immediately. "_I _have to take the other room? Why do I have to move?"

Jett quirked an eyebrow, "Don't you know how a divorce? You just broke my heart and I'm _horribly_ devastated," he brought the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. "I think it's completely fair that someone with such a cold, callous heart such as yourself concede to what little I ask, in this, my time of emotional need. Don't you?"

"No!"

"Well, too bad," Jett shrugged mockingly. "Either you can move your stuff out now, or I can throw it out when I get back. Again, your choice."

"Get back? Where're you going?" James asked, suspicion in his voice.

"Let's say…gift shopping."

–

…_but sometimes, trouble seemed to have a habit of following James and Jett around like a bad habit…_

–

**If found, please return to:**_ Logan Mitchell_

**Address: **_173 __Shallowbrook Circuit, Apt. 209_

**Work: **_Edina Public Media Center_

**Thank you!**

James had read and re-read over the plastic-encased information card attached to the ring of keys at least a hundred times since yesterday, even though he'd memorized every printed letter and number – and the font, Comic Sans – by the fiftieth read-over. Still, he couldn't help the anticipatory grin that spread across his face.

As soon as he'd stop waiting for any briefing calls sometime after noon – he didn't want any missions interrupting him while he put the moves on Logan – he'd driven over to the address with the keys safely in his pocket, attentive to every street name until he reached the average apartment complex, more than fifteen minutes away from his condominium.

Unfortunately, buzzing for Logan's room yielded James no response, and he'd pressed the buzzer an annoying amount of times, just to be sure. Nothing.

He'd been upset, mostly because he'd been hoping to be invited in and maybe get to make out a little as a reward, but was not deterred. Even if Logan wasn't at the library, James was willing to try again tomorrow, and maybe even the day after that, but that would probably be it. He still had his own life and all.

As luck would have it, when James entered the library, he saw the familiar shock of dark hair on someone behind the main desk. Though the interior of the building made gooseflesh spread down his arms, and _not_ from the temperature, that easy, giddy grin spread across his face one more. He pulled down his t-shirt, making sure it was taut over his torso and biceps, then slid as smoothly as he could on carpet to the front desk, directly in front of Logan. "Why hello there, cutie."

Logan looked up from where pasting a thin paper sleeve into the back of a book and smiled a warm smile that would stick in James' mind as their "reunion moment smile", which was very important, and said, "Hello, sir, can I help you find something?"

_That_ disappointing bit of formality dropped the grin on James face – how could Logan _not_ recognize him? – until he remembered that he'd had a mask and helmet covering up two of his most important features, his smile and his perfect hair, when he'd met Logan, and then the grin was back.

This time, he would let it slide. "No, thanks, I already found what I'm looking for." He pointed his index finger at Logan and winked, "You."

"Oh, would you like me to check out your rental?" Logan reached over near the desktop computer and brandished a scanning gun. "Do you have your library card with you, or would you like to –,"

"What? No, I don't want any _books_," James grimaced. "I said I found you!"

A confused expression slowly fell on Logan's face. "So, you found me…because you need me to help you operate one of the computers? If you're not registered with us, there's a guest option available, but you'll only receive half the amount of time at the computer."

Maybe, James thought, he'd overestimated Logan's intelligence. He was starting to get frustrated now, tangible confidence replaced with a childish pout. How could Logan _not _remember his voice or his eyes? "I didn't come here to use any gross library junk, Logan! I came to find you!"

Logan looked down at himself briefly, mumbling what sounded like numbers under his breath and pointing from James' face to whatever was hanging around his neck, then back up to James with apprehension set in his frown. "You can't even see my badge behind the desk from your angle. How do you know my name?"

"We've met before. Recently," James smiled, waiting for the recognition to shine in Logan's eyes.

Instead, he received a deepened frown. "Wait a here a moment," he held up a halting finger. "I'm going to call security."

"Woah, wait wait wait!" James reached over the desk to grab Logan's arm, which, judging by the panicked look Logan gave, wasn't the best action, so he let go and held up his hands in a show of harmlessness. "Wait, okay? I promise you know me. Uhh, remember yesterday at the museum, the tall, muscular guy with the beautiful voice who saved you?" He framed his fingers around his eyes like binoculars, hoping to accentuate them. "Remember the eyes?"

"Oh!" Logan pointed emphatically. "It's you!"

James huffed. Better late than never. "Yes, me! James Diamond, the guy who totally saved your life, in the flesh." He extended a hand over the desk, and Logan shook it. James didn't pretend not to squeeze Logan's hand for extra warmth.

"Ha, I didn't think I'd even get to see you again. I didn't even get the chance to thank you or anything, so…thanks, guy who saved my life," Logan said with amusement, though James could tell he was sincere. "Wait, that doesn't explain how you know my name. I never told you."

"You kinda did, technically." James searched around in his pockets until he pulled out the ring of keys, jingling them teasingly. "It was on this."

"Hey, are those mine?" Logan exclaimed, grabbing the keys and checking over them. He exhaled with relief, "Thank god you had them. I thought that thug took them with him and was gonna escape from jail, break into my house and strangle me in my sleep for turning him in," he mimicked the violent action in the air.

"Don't worry," James started, very subtly flexing his biceps with a well-timed stretch. "I could totally handle him with these guns if that happens."

Logan held up his keys pointedly, "I don't have to worry now, so you can store your, uh, _artillery_ away for later. One sec," he said before ducking out of sight to do something dubious behind his desk, then popping up just as chipper as before. "It's nice to formally meet you, James Diamond. You look a lot different without all the black armor and that nifty helmet."

"'Different' as in better?"

"Technically, yes. To be fair, though, I couldn't see any part of you besides your eyes."

Not good enough. "What if we're not speaking technically?"

Logan's eyes narrowed. "You're fishing for a compliment right now, aren't you?"

James nodded easily and leaned over the desk to poke Logan in the chest. "You should bite the hook."

He was trying not to laugh, James could tell, which made him smile widely. "Fine, James. Yes, you look tons better now without all the spy gear. It did make you look cooler when you took down those guys down, which I totally still owe you one for." Then, Logan's eyebrows knitted in thought. "By the way, what exactly is your job description?"

That question was easy enough to avoid. "Saving dudes in distress. Like you," he declared, delighted when Logan rolled his eyes. "I can think of a great way for you to repay me, if you're interested."

"Oh?" Logan looked apprehensive, especially when James added a suggestive tilt to his smile. "Spill."

"I was thinking you should let me take you‒ "

Before he could finish, a small, elderly woman with an unnecessary umbrella pushed into his space – into his _groove_ – and set a weighty book on the counter. "Excuse me, young man. I'd like to return this book."

Logan gave the woman a polite smile, as if she _hadn't_ just interrupted them, and opened the ratty book to the back cover. "I'd be happy to, ma'am. Do you have your library card with you?"

"Oh, I believe I just might…," she mumbled and started rummaging around in her gigantic, tattered handbag.

Clearing his throat, James prepared throw on a little extra charm. Older woman loved him, he'd get her to leave no problem. "Sorry, lady, but we," he gestured between himself and Logan, "were kinda in the middle of something, so if you could wait until we finish, that would be swell."

"Wait your turn, missy," the woman didn't even bother to look up from her bag, just waved him off with a bony hand.

James bristled at her tone. "I'm a _guy_," he corrected with a purposefully deep inflection.

"Uh, James…," he received a worried look from Logan, but there was nothing to worry about. No problem.

"And _I _was here first, so it's fair that you should wait _your_ turn."

"I said beat it, young lady!" the woman gave him a withering stare from the corner of her eye.

He returned it fiercely, tolerance gone at that point. "Listen, you senile old hag, I'm a _guy! _And if you don't –,"

A frantically shouted "_James!_" stayed the threat half-spit on James' tongue, and he turned his fiery gaze on Logan to see a horrified glare directed at him, then looked down at his own finger pointed angrily at the old woman, who had a smug, wrinkly smile on her mug. _Hag._

Slowly, trying not to set himself off, James lowered his arm, fixing his mouth into small, tight smile. "I'm…just going to…,"

"…sit at a table and wait _patiently?_ Like an adult?" Logan suggested through his forced smile full of clenched teeth, worried look still on his face when he gestured to an empty table nearby.

"Yeah, that," James nodded, ignoring the old woman and trudging over to throw himself into an uncomfortable wooden chair, back turned to the main desk.

Geez, it wasn't like he was actually going to _hit_ her or anything.

There were lingering stares from library patrons after the shouting match, but they eventually turned back to their work. James tried to occupy himself, tapping out a beat against the carpet with his foot, checking his mobile for messages, humming nameless tunes, but he had no way of dispelling his boredom or his impatience. He managed to occupy a total of three minutes before he listened in on the conversation between Logan and the hag.

"Ma'am, are you sure you rented this book from _our_ library?"

"Why, yes, I'm sure of it."

"I only ask because this book doesn't have our stamp or are our card holder. And we've never had _Bamboo Treasure Forest_ in stock. Ever."

"No no, that can't be right. I rented this book from this very library forty-three years ago. Yes, I remember it was a chilly day in August after Blissy and I had just gotten home from schooling, and…,"

"Ma'am, this library was only built two years ago."

That was going to take forever!

Feeling particularly petulant, James made a long, loud _groan_ing noise, then checked back to see if he'd gained any reaction. Logan gave him a brief, stern Librarian Glare, which was more arousing than anything, before he returned attention to the old woman. That had been entertaining for almost five whole seconds.

James sighed and stood, dragging his feet along the carpet while he looked up and down the rows and columns of books, trying to find ancient fashion magazines or something similarly interesting. It was a little difficult since he had no clue how the books were ordered, and at no point did he plan on learning Dewey's twisted organization system.

Eventually, he came upon a row of brighter books, vibrant colors and broadly drawn letters down the spines catching his attention. He pulled out the first book that interested him, pursing his lips at the cover. It was most bare save for the curled letters of the title, a thin castle spire and a long length of what looked to be blonde hair flowing down from a window. A book about hair _had_ to be a good read, right?

And when James retook his seat and opened the book, it _did_ turn out to be pretty good. A little dull in the beginning, but having lively images along with the text made him smile and continue on. In fact, he saw a little of himself on the hero – a gallant male lead described with windswept brunet hair and a perfectly chiseled jaw, enough charm and suavity to get him out of any hairy situation, and a penchant for finding himself on the wrong side of the law. There were other descriptive words like narcissistic and foolhardy and helpless, but those didn't apply to James.

Even better, the heroine who, kind of, not really, ends up saved by the hero resembled Logan in personality. A little bit. Dozens of little oddities, a fondness for books, magical powers and spasmodic tendencies was a good fit. And and _and_! She ended up falling in love with hero! All Logan needed was a long head of blond hair and…girl parts. He didn't know much about Logan, but he would find out how accurate the rest was.

Especially the falling in love part.

He only thought of that later when he was finished with the book, too enthralled to put it down for a moment. He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he stood and whipped around, the old woman was gone, replaced by someone else – a _male_ someone else – who was leaning on the desk like he owned it, and who Logan was directing a humoring smile at.

He bothered to turn his attention away from Logan for only a few moments and already someone was hitting on him? _Not_ cool.

Not bothering to hide his jealousy, James stalked up to the front desk, catching Logan's worried gaze before he chirped out a falsely pleasant, "Hey Logan, who's your friend?" and pointedly glared at the stranger. Said stranger stood up straight and returned his glare with equal ferocity, emerald-green eyes hard and –

Oh, that was no stranger.

–

The previous day, Jett had gone on a field mission solo for the second time in his life.

The first time he'd tried, three or so years ago, it had _not_ gone smoothly, and that was as nicely as he could put it. He'd been a fresh-faced rookie at the time, and an admittedly overconfident one – compared to the current him, who had the perfect amount of confidence. The item he'd been after, the item he'd _failed_ to get, wasn't even something he'd really wanted! Sure, maybe he could've sold it to earn some nice pocket change, but other than that, what on Earth would he do with a dusty coronet? Wear it around town? No, he'd only wanted it for the notoriety, to send his organization some indistinct message of his prowess despite his only recent induction. What better way to do that than by stealing a coveted piece of crafted gold by his lonesome?

One poorly attached suspension cord, two broken display cases and three bullet wounds – two shallow, one imbedded in his calf – later, Jett had failed and had a team of well-armed security guards on his tail.

The second time was an improved experience, one that ended in triumph and an unwounded leg. He'd only had to take his prize after infiltrating the ranks of the slovenly airport security, which had been an easy task with their unflatteringly frumpy outfits and face-shielding uniform caps. Intercepting the package had been more difficult, what with the only variant in the packages stored on the plane being their sizes.

In the end of the escapade, the item that Jett needed was safely rolled up in his pocket while he strolled out of the airport leisurely, and it was all done solo.

…so, _maybe_ he'd had a little help from behind the scenes, but his help was annoying and had a mop for hair, so he wasn't relevant. Without anything to prove to anyone but himself and a brazen detachment from regulation, there was no pressure, no distraction, and most of all, no failure.

The item was now stuffed into the pocket of his jeans and ready to reach its recipient. Jett pushed the doors of the library open with purpose, unperturbed by the stares his vigor received – these people had no lives of their own to lead, apparently. As promised, Logan was exactly where Jett expected him, behind the main desk and waving to an old krone shuffling away at a snail's pace.

When Jett glided to the front of the desk and settled on his elbows, Logan's attention was somewhere else, on something behind Jett, on something that _wasn't _Jett. Unacceptable! Jett fixed that with a quick snap of his fingers in front of Logan's face, bringing narrowed brown eyes to him.

"You're back?" was the unenthused greeting Jett received. _Rude_.

"Don't be so impolite," Jett chided with a lofty smile. "And here I thought we were on the fast track to becoming friends."

"_Why_ are you back?"

Intent on being unfriendly, was he? "How about we start again, from the beginning?" Jett cleared his throat for show, ignoring the peculiar face Logan pulled. "Good evening, Logan. I hope the day has been treating you well so far."

"Hello, Jett," Logan played along. "My day has been just fine _so far_. Why are you here?"

Jett smirked, and perhaps there was a little bit of a smile there, somewhere. He'd made a good choice. "You'll change your tone when I tell you I brought something for you to see."

"Why?" Logan replied in exactly the same tone.

"Because you're the only young adult alive who gets an erection from historical effects."

Predictably, Logan perked up at mention of historical. "What is it?"

"Ah, so _now_ you're interested?"

"If you're gonna make this a game, I've got someone else I could be talking –,"

Suitably amused, Jett waved a pacifying hand in Logan's direction. "Simmer down. I'll show you since you're so very eager."

The unveiling of the gift – a thin, lengthy strip of fine violet fabric with foreign script finely stitched in gleaming gold patterned vertically down its span and two elaborately crafted scroll rollers framing each end of the fabric in fading gold – was admittedly a less enthralling event than Jett had pictured when he unfurled it level against the wooden desk, but Logan was undeniably curious about it, and Jett was certain he was only just keeping himself from touching it.

"What is this?" Logan's fingers came close to touching the cloth, but retracted them immediately, biting his lip. It was almost killing him to have a piece of history so close and not be able to touch it, even if he knew nothing about it.

Jett rolled his eyes. "You can pick it up if you want, you know. It isn't going to tear easily."

The cloth was in Logan's hands before Jett could finish giving permission, being touched and stretched and held up to the light and examined up to the bridge of Logan's nose. It was a surprise when Logan didn't start sniffing at it. "What's it say?" he asked, holding the cloth out taut for Jett to see.

"How should I know? I don't read Persian."

"It's in Persian?"

Though Jett didn't feel like recounting what he'd learned, having someone interested in what he had to say was a nice boost to his ego, something he desperately needed. "Yes, it's a," pause, "a _replica_ of the headband worn by the war general under the Shah of…some random empire of theirs. Possibly Old Persia. I don't care. It's not important. Point is, he killed hundreds of people while wearing and its history, so you should love it."

Even with the short, choppy retelling, Logan was still entranced. "So cool," he gave the headband a last once over before folding it neatly and holding it out over the desk. "Thanks for showing me."

"Keep it."

"Huh?"

"I said, keep it."

"Dude, are you kidding me? This might be an imitation, but it _feels_ like something I can't afford." Logan rubbed his thumb pad over the fabric. "What is this made of?"

"Vicuña fur."

"See? I don't even know what that is!"

Jett chuckled and laid his hand over Logan's, feeling genuinely pleased under the condescending air he couldn't dispel. "Oh, Logan. Poor, simple Logan. You should be clueless more often. It's an adorable look on you. This is a gift specifically for you, and it'd be in poor taste of you not to accept."

Logan's face twisted into a familiar glower. He snatched his hand away, pleasantry between them replaced with benign animosity. Jett preferred it that way. More fun. "That's probably your version of a compliment, isn't it?"

"You're welcome."

"Thanks, but you're kind of a dick, you know that?" Logan snipped, but he couldn't contain the light in his eyes when he looked down at the headband.

Jett shrugged. "I've been told. I've also been told my face more than makes up for it."

"Kinda adds to it, if you ask me," the corner of Logan's lips tilted with humor.

"Are you saying I'm _not_ handsome?"

"Hey, Logan, who's your friend?" was the answer he received. Just not from the person he wanted to hear from.

–

_Jett_ was the man glaring back at him, until those green eyes of his widened in surprise, an expression James knew he was mimicking, because no way in Hell did Jett have a good reason to set foot inside a library – as far as James knew about his personal life and interests – nor did he have reason to be speaking with Logan. _James'_ Logan.

James raised an accusing finger eye-level and growled, "What are _you_ doing here?"

Overcoming his surprise and slipping on a familiar mask of disparaging indifference, Jett turned his nose up to James. "I could ask the very same of you, only I don't care enough to."

Curious, Logan's eyes shifted between the two of them, oblivious to the palpable tension. "You two know each other?"

James turned and spat out a heated, "No way!" at the same time that Jett said, "Absolutely not!"

Again, Logan's eyes shifted between them with, his disbelief apparent. "Okay, if you say so," he shrugged. That wasn't a very good sign. Disinterest was _never_ a good sign. Jett was fucking things up for him!

Before he could voice his question again, Jett spoke tersely, quietly, "You. Me. Words," then stalked off into some random aisle of books, because obviously he couldn't say "Let's talk" like a normal human being. James was fully intent on ignoring the command, putting on a winning smile and for Logan, only to find that Logan was no longer paying attention to him, ticking away at something on the desk computer.

Okay, that was a little frustrating, and that frustration probably showed in the way his lips tightened and his eyes narrowed and he felt like _stomping_ like a child, but that wasn't very suave and he didn't want Logan to see any of that, so he followed where Jett had disappeared between bookcases. If there was anything the other man was good at, it was being a receptacle for anger.

"I'm not sure how you managed to wander in here, seeing as you barely manage to read above primary school level," Jett started as soon as James was in view, gaze on a random column of books, "but I need you to get lost. I have business to conduct and I can't have you here mucking it up."

James ignored the taunt and the shooing motion Jett made with his hands. "Hey, your business involves talking to my future boyfriend, so I think it's _my_ business too."

The corner of Jett's eye twitched. "_Your_ future boyfriend?"

"Yeah, I think that's what I said."

"He's the one you were gushing about yesterday?"

"Yep."

"You're even more delusional than normal if you think Logan's interested in you," Jett scoffed.

"Of course he is. We already spent tons of time together. _Tons_," James bolstered the last word, smirking at the undeniably curious glare Jett sent him. "Let's just say that me and Logan looked around the museum – _together_ – and we talked and learned a bunch about each other, and he totally owes me a huge favor."

"For what?

Too easy. "Something big I did for him. That's all you need to know."

Jett straightened, lips downturned. "Is that so?"

James hummed and nodded, adding, "And did I tell you he's in love with my eyes? Because he is. In love, I mean. With my eyes." He lifted a finger to his right eye, "These ones, right here."

"So then…the both of you are dating."

James' confidence faltered momentarily. "I – no, but we're going to after we finish this little chat, so can we hurry it up?"

"Well, as regretful as I am to inform you of this – and I'm not, by the way," as if James didn't already know that, "you should know that Logan won't be dating you. Ever. So you should stow those fairytale scenarios in your head away for another man."

There was a roiling in James' stomach when he asked, "What're you talking about?"

"I think I made myself plenty clear," Jett said and began sauntering out of the confining space of the aisle and into the free area near a wall of children's books, James following begrudgingly. "Logan. Won't. Be. Dating. You. Ever."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I know for a fact that he'll be far too involved with someone else to even remember your name."

James eyes narrowed, cautious of the smug, or smugger than usual, tone in Jett's voice. "Who?"

Jett smirked. "Me."

In that moment, James was caught somewhere in between laughing his head off at the ridiculousness of Jett's statement and punching Jett in the gut for wasting time that could've been spent wooing Logan. He settled on a derisive snort. "You're outta your mind."

"Rest assured, I'm completely sane."

"Right, so you suddenly want him now that I'm going after him?"

"Please, you must be joking. I'm willing to bet your taste in men is just as bad as your taste in everything else." Even James caught the misstep in words, but Jett continued on as though he'd landed the perfect insult. "Yesterday was when we had our very poignant and pivotal meeting, and I'm sure I decided to date him far before you did."

"Wait…he was the guy _you_ were talking about too?"

"The very same," Jett nodded.

"And you think he'd pick you over me?" James asked with obvious doubt.

In a deliberate motion, Jett ran a hand over his perfectly styled hair. "Of course he would. He has functioning eyes, after all, and have you seen me? I'm _way_ better looking than you."

James choked, "Uh, no, you're not."

"I think I am."

"I _know _you're not."

"See? This is exactly the delusion I was talking about." Jett raised a condescending finger to wag in James face. His fingernail was weirdly long. "How could he ever choose you when you're so obviously senseless?"

Their conversation had gone on for long enough, James decided, and he leaned forward into Jett's space with a deceptively saccharine smile on his lips. "You know, I don't know. I guess I should go…," he pressed his hand against Jett's chest and shoved forcefully, "…ask him."

Not a moment later, James was sprinting down the aisle toward the front desk in what he thought was a quick escape, but the body that collided against his back when he was only halfway through the aisle told him otherwise; he always forgot that Jett, whatever he did all day, was too physically well-practiced to be an easy opponent. He fell to the floor with a mostly muffled groan, and there was the distinctive feeling of an elbow being ground into his spine.

"And just where are you rushing off to so soon?"

James grunted, twisting his body in effort to throw Jett off. The weight rolled off him and Jett's feet appeared in front of him, stepping over his prone body. James reached for and grabbed one of Jett's ankles, wrenching and pulling him off balance until Jett had to grab for at a bookcase to keep from tumbling to the floor. Fortunately – for James, that was – Jett's fingers hooked on the top of book spines unable to sustain his weight and he tumbled anyway, sending books dropping down on the back of his head.

"Son of a –," was all James heard before he was jumping to his feet and dashing from the section, avoiding any hands grabbing for his legs.

Reaching the front desk yielded him no victory, however, because Logan wasn't there. Like, at all! James jumped on the desk to check if Logan was kneeling down doing librarian things, he craned his neck to peer inside the room behind the desk area, he looked around to see if Logan was helping someone with a computer, but he was nowhere to be seen. He wouldn't leave so suddenly, would he?

Jett was by his side seconds later, frazzled and irate, looking around in a quicker fashion than James had, exhaling audibly through his nostrils. James gave him a lazy shrug, positive that he was going to give up and leave, but Jett brushed past him instead, walking at a brisk pace toward the aisles opposite the section they'd come from. _He was still searching for Logan!_

"Shit." James doubled back to the section he'd just come from; he hadn't been checking for Logan the first time he'd rushed past, so there was like, a fifty percent Logan was on that side instead of the side Jett was checking, right? Or maybe less since one of the aisles was clear, but he didn't know how to subtract that.

Whatever. Math.

In the fifth aisle down was where James found Logan setting a few books into place from a pile in his arms, unaware of the disorder he was inadvertently causing – James _may_ have scared a few people during his search, which meant Jett was probably twice as disruptive. "Logan!" James shouted with a bright grin, wincing when the volume startled Logan to the point of jumping and dropping the pile of books in his arms.

Logan looked down at the pile of books on the floor with wide eyes, then scowled at James – it was still hot. "Is this your first time in a library?" Logan hissed. James didn't answer. "You can_not _make loud noises in here, James. People are trying to focus."

"I know, I know. Sorry," James apologized hurriedly and stooped down to heft the pile of books up into a messy stack in his arms, offering an appropriate smile. Logan wasn't dazzled by it, but he looked less annoyed, which was a good start.

Whereas James had expected Logan to take the books from his arms, Logan left them there and took only the book from the top, eyes flying around until he moved down the bookcases a few paces. James guessed that he was meant to follow, having become Logan's living book rack. "You're not going to be trouble, are you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Once the book was deposited into its rightful place, Logan took another book and continued moving, answering, "After dealing with that situation at the museum, I've got this goal of avoiding trouble at all costs. Not worth the stress at all, man. I know I can't completely cheat entropy, so to speak, but if I I've got a choice in it, I'm going to try like hell to stay away."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm no trouble at all," James sung in a light timbre. It was a lie, he knew that, but _Logan_ didn't know it, and if James was careful enough, Logan wouldn't have to find out ever.

Logan gave him a critical eye. "Are you sure about that? Didn't you literally run into danger yesterday?"

"Hey, you were right behind me, remember?" James accused, following behind Logan while he lightened the pile more.

"That was…a necessity. To get out of danger faster."

"So wasn't, admit it. Everyone likes a little danger, right?"

Pursed lips were Logan's only answer. Probably a no.

James cleared his throat nervously, "Okay, well, I can show you that I'm not trouble. You know, outside of this place. Maybe this weekend, if you're free?"

A blushed lit up Logan's face on cue, his fingers gripping the book cover in his hand tightly. _The Odyssey of Reds_. "Do you mean a date? With me?"

Yes, he definitely wanted a date, but was he supposed to ask for one so quickly? It'd been so long since he'd had to ask, he'd kind of forgotten. James nodded, deciding to play it safe. "We can call it friendly outing instead! And in case you're thinkin' about saying no, remember that you totally owe me one for saving you, just saying."

"That so?" Logan chuckled, though James could hear the nervous quality in his laugh. Good sign. "Then I guess don't really have a choice, huh?"

"Nope!"

"Don't yell."

"Sorry."

Jett chose that very perfect moment to show his face at the end of the aisle, looking more harried than he had a few minutes ago, and definitely pissed off. He stalked up to them, up to Logan, and jabbed a finger in his direction. "_You_. I looked all over this accursed building for you! Where were you?"

Logan blinked. "Um, here? Working? Which reminds me, I need to get back to that." Another blush reddened Logan's face and there was hesitation in his eyes, then he blindly pulled a pen from the badge around his neck, sidling up to James and scribbling quick, neat numbers onto James bare arm. His back hid the action from Jett, but the grin James shot Jett over Logan's head was telling enough. "You have my number now, so don't come back here, 'kay?"

"Deal!" James agreed loudly. Logan's lips twitched and he took the remaining books from James' arms, giving Jett a quick wave before he left the two of them alone.

James raised a flirty wave to the empty space Logan had occupied, dreamy and light until Jett seized his arm, wrenching him out of his daze.

"This can't be happening." Jett's eyes scanned over the numbers several times before James yanked his arm free. "I don't believe it."

"You better, because I'm gonna be getting ready for my date – the one _I _have with Logan that _you_ don't, in case you forgot – at our place tomorrow," James boasted, his smirk toothy and gleaming brightly.

There was a competitive glint in Jett when he lifted his chin and quipped, "Is that so?" and it really shouldn't have been there since there was no longer any competition since James had won, but it was probably nothing.

He ignored it. "You bet your ass. I'd ask for your help getting ready, but Logan obviously thinks I look better, so," he shrugs, backing out of the aisle with a taunting thumb-up.

Tomorrow was a good day.

––

Jett wasn't at home when James got in for the evening, nor did he stop in at any point during the night, or at least from what James could hear from his room. When he awoke the following morning and crawled out of his room, the door to Jett's room was open just the same as last night, not a thing in the room out of place.

That was strange, but it was too early for James' sleepy brain and rumbling stomach to make sense of it. The only explanation that came to mind was Jett finding a one-night stand to blow off steam, seeing as he'd suffered a crushing defeat and the hands of James' good looks and Logan sure wasn't going to be blowing anything off for him anytime soon. That explanation didn't account for Jett not showing at up at all, though, which put a confused crease in the middle of James forehead.

Until he realized that his curiosity could be misconstrued for _caring_ and stopped thinking about it altogether.

Besides, he had a date-type thing today! Like, the real definition of a date, not a quick fuck followed closely by sleep; what had been his take on the word for the past year. They would talk, he and Logan, about everything and nothing and learn useless things about one another that James would remember years into their relationship, and they would hold hands, possibly, and stick unnecessarily close to each other like other obnoxious couples did, and blushes would be painted on their faces for the entire date – no, the entire day!

He wanted to burst from excitement, but he was a man, so he settled for humming soft tunes until an hour before noon rolled around. Then, he settled down on the couch and called Logan, whose number was still scrawled out on his arm in neat, blue script – he'd intentionally avoided scrubbing his arm during his shower.

The other end picked up after two rings. _"Hello?"_

James smiled, not that Logan could see it or anything. "Hello to you too, cutie."

There was a pause. _"Excuse me? Who is this?"_

"James!" Geez, what other guys did Logan have calling him cutie?

"_Oh! Right, of course. What's up?"_

"Just calling to make sure you didn't forget about our da–," oh, no wait. He wasn't supposed to call it that yet. "Our, uh, friendly outing thing!"

"_Nah, I've been thinking about it since I got up." _Another pause. _"I hope that's less pathetic than it sounded."_

"Don't worry about it. You _are_ going out with Edina's most eligible bachelor, after all."

"_Ha, and here I thought your friend was the cocky one."_

The excitement dropped from James' face at the mention of his _friend, _glare aimed at the television set. The last person he wanted Logan to be thinking about was Jett. He was quick to change the subject. "So, I'm thinking you be ready in, like, two hours and I come pick you up?"

"_Sure, sounds like a plan. I'll text you my address."_

"I already know where it is," James blurted out before he realized how stalkerish it sounded. "I mean, it was on your keychain and I tried going to your place before going to the library, so I already know.."

"_Chill, I know it's on my key ring." _James breathed easier. _"Should I wear anything special for this?"_

"You'll find out when we get there." For the life of him, he couldn't find the directions he'd printed out the previous night, but they were useless anyway now that he'd memorized the interstate route.

"_Really? You're gonna be _that_ kind of…outing friend?"_ Logan deadpanned.

"Yep! Promise you'll enjoy it." Or, he hoped.

"_Fine, but I might borrow my buddy's helmet for this, just in case."_

James snorted, "And you think _I'm_ the weird one?"

"_You still are, James Diamond. See you later?"_

"Bet on it," James replied, and the line went dead.

As James had always known about himself, he wasn't really the type to think ahead. Was that called again? Foresight? He was the type to live in the moment, consider the consequences after the fact, fly headfirst into a situation before he assessed anything. It was how he got where he was today, and so far, his impulsive nature hadn't failed him. Not _badly_.

He could count his current situation as one of those times not planning ahead failed him. Although he'd already showered and prepared for the day, he hadn't prepared for a _date. _He only had two hours and he didn't have the perfect outfit laid out or the perfect sneakers to coordinate with it, his hair was missing that perfect tousled look that simultaneously equipped him for anything from fancy dinners to fun between the sheets, and his face –

Who was he kidding?

The next two hours were filled with him making a mess of every room he skittered into. His room had clothes strewn around on the bed, on the floor, over the door and everywhere in between, because nothing was _right_ or _eye-catching_ or _dazzling_ enough for him. He labeled that the "maybe pile". Jett's room was in a similar state, only outfit tops thrown out of the closet at rapid fire – his legs were too long for Jett's jeans to fit, and other than the intolerable amount of polo shirts Jett owned, his taste in clothes wasn't terrible.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom after holing himself inside for the remaining forty minutes, there was a dense fog of hairspray and fresh-smelling cologne clouding the bathroom. He'd had to move quickly, but after some intense procedures with his blow dryer, half a can of hairspray his lucky comb, he'd finally gotten the effortless, fluid sweep to his shining brown fringes just right – the one that made people's fingers itch to run through his hair the longer they stared.

He checked himself in the full length mirror in his bedroom, straightening his jacket and flipping his hair to make sure it stayed styled, and he was done. And with only…

**April 17, 1:56 PM**

James' jaw dropped at his mobile's time display. He was late! On his way out, he snagged his keys and his wallet, unconcerned about the piece of paper he'd lost.

He was pretty good with directions, so they'd be fine.

–

…_other times, they personally brought trouble along with them like a terrible gift…_

–

Droning in ears, all Jett could hear was the deafening whir of spinning helicopter blades, even past the oversized headphones he'd been forced to wear. The bench inside the small, unmarked transportation helicopter was without cushion, uncomfortable, and he'd been riding inside with only the small window on the door and cockpit windshield for illumination for over ten minutes. He was bored out of his mind, his legs were starting to fall asleep, and the helicopter's pilot was absolutely insufferable.

"Hey, this is a _really_ obvious area. Not a smart place to do this, if you ask me."

Jett sighed wearily, wondering if he'd made the right decision in pilot. Then again, what he was about to do was a huge waste of his organization's monetary support, and the half-concocted story he'd given – something about an anonymous mole who threatened to expose them all, someone who had only contacted Jett and who Jett was tasked with handling – wasn't concrete enough to sell without a partner who cared very little about how much trouble he got himself into.

That was Kendall's use. "It's a good thing I _didn't_ ask you then, Kendall. How else am I going to send the message that we can exterminate this man at any time we so choose?"

Kendall craned his neck back to look at Jett from his _cushioned_ chair, flipping stringy blond hair from his forehead and raising one of his obscenely prominent eyebrows. "I dunno, by sending him an _actual _message? Or by just getting rid of him?"

"Shut your mouth and fly."

"Chill, we're already here," Kendall smirked.

Not bothering to acknowledge him, Jett stood from his seat, shaking the tingling from his legs, and slid open the weighted door, squinting against the heavy wind. Close by, maybe a kilometer or so away, was a small rural highway, two roads separated by a divider and surrounded on both sides by healthy green grassland. A sign stood high over the road, broadcasting the interstate number in orange lights.

"This is the place, right?"

Jett nodded, certain without needing to look at the wadded sheet of paper in his pocket. He retreated into the helicopter momentarily, opening one of the compartments above the bench and pulling out his weapons of choice, along with its ammunition.

"You think an AT4 missile launcher is really necessary?" Kendall questioned when he came to stand next to Jett, helping him load the large weapon properly. "Is he driving a tank around or something? I thought you were just trying to scare him."

"I know what I'm doing," Jett lied easily – he'd never held a missile launcher before in his life – and checked his watch. Only two minutes until show time. "Move aside," he ordered as he moved into a crouch, hefting the heavy weapon over his shoulder and peering into the telescopic sight.

"You want to avoid trouble, do you, Logan?" Jett murmured to himself as a familiar car sped into view. "Then perhaps it's time you reevaluate your decision, hm?"

He aimed, and pulled the trigger.

–

…_something Logan could, despite his optimism, never prepare for._


End file.
